


red string of fate

by mijimena



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bars and Pubs, Clubbing, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, aomine just wants to make some cash, basically soulmates!au with kise always crashing aomine's work shifts, kise wants aomine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mijimena/pseuds/mijimena
Summary: The first time Aomine met Kise, he was working as a bartender in Hong Kong.remix of the “i’ve been travelling a lot and somehow you’re in every single city i go to seriously what the fuck who even are you how are you doing this” au
Relationships: Aomine Daiki/Kise Ryouta
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	red string of fate

Certain people are always meant to meet. Here’s a list of ways it could have happened:

The first time Aomine met Kise, he was working as a bartender in Hong Kong. The skies had opened up that fine spring day—a fox’s wedding of a day, with raindrops that pattered brightly on concrete streets as the sun shone above. It was near the end of Aomine’s shift when a slim man ducked into the small corner pub, cursing softly, gray suit jacket held over his head. Aomine closed the game he was playing on his phone, sighing internally. Looked like another down on his luck salaryman who wanted to drown his sorrows in caffeine and sugar. And he was _that_ close to clocking out early. 

“One Irish coffee, please.” The man said, hopping up onto a barstool and shaking out his jacket. “Extra whiskey and cream. On second thought, hold the coffee altogether.”

Yep, definitely a down on his luck salaryman. 

“First time I’ve ever had a customer basically order straight whiskey and whipped cream,” Aomine commented, eyebrow raised. “Rough day, sir?” 

The man laughed tiredly, “You could say that. Day, week, the last 20 years or so.” His golden eyes crinkled when he laughed, lighting up his drawn face in a way that reminded Aomine of someone he once knew. Or maybe saw in a dream. Because _damn_ , this guy was hot. 

Aomine set the cocktail in front of Sad Salaryman and watched him down it in a record time of 3 seconds. 

“Have I met you before?” Aomine asked. Then added gruffly, feeling like that made things awkward: “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m trying to hit on you or anything. Anyway, would you like to take a look at our dessert menu, sir? I recommend the chocolate tiramisu.” 

The man seemed slightly offended by the suggestion someone was _not_ hitting on him but cheered by the prospect of dessert. “If you could get me 6 slices of that and another drink, I’d probably love you forever. And stop calling me sir! You don’t look much younger than me. Just call me Kise. Kise Ryouta.” 

“Yes, Mr. Kise Ryouta, sir,” Aomine intoned, smirking a little. “One Irish coffee without the coffee coming right up. Or would you prefer it if I just gave you the entire bottle of whiskey?”

“Sassy aren’t you, Aomine?” 

“Um, how do you know my name?”

“You’re wearing a nametag.” Aomine looked down. Oh. So he was. He brought out the tiramisu without further comment. And the whiskey, just in case. 

3 slices and 4 shots in, Kise had loosened his tie and was treating Aomine like a long lost best friend, drunkenly waving a fork around and complaining about his terrible boss, Midorima. It was kind of endearing, how puppy-like this guy looked without the stressed-out businessman face on. 

“And he’s always asking me to run errands! Randomly, he’ll force me to buy a very specific brand of banana milk because it’s his lucky item of the day. It’s from some stupid online horoscope, and he totally freaked out one time when I got strawberry instead of banana, and _God,_ I hate him. Also, what kind of crack did you put in this cake? It’s _delicious—_ hey, hey, Aominecchi, you want some?” And he leaned all up into Aomine’s personal bubble, waving his fork and smelling like whiskey and flashing a male-model-caliber smile that made Aomine’s heart skip a beat. 

“Um, sure.” Aomine leaned forward and barely breathed, well aware he was eating cake off of another man’s fork. What a fucking weird Friday this turned out to be. Kise was smiling like an idiot again, and as Aomine chewed he tried (kind of failed) to avoid eye contact because damn, this was close. Any closer and they would almost be—oh. 

Between the delicate taste of chocolate and Kise’s soft lips on his, Aomine was feeling rather overwhelmed all of a sudden. The other man’s still-damp hair dripped rainwater onto Aomine’s eyelashes, and as he blinked he felt Kise smile into the kiss. Ok, maybe he should just—alright, nope. Kise’s hand was pulling Aomine close by the tie of his uniform as he leaned in. All rational thought flew out the window. Aomine didn’t kiss his customers every day, but if he’s going to _he's going to do it right._

When they broke apart, Kise wiped his mouth and giggled softly. It sounded like angels singing. Aomine was lightheaded, and everything in the world suddenly seemed overly warm and different. Maybe it was because of the whiskey he’d tasted on Kise’s tongue. Aomine’s alcohol tolerance was pretty low after all. He was still thinking about this as he scribbled his number covertly on the back of Kise’s receipt. 

\---

The second time Aomine met Kise, it was at the Bauhaus Museum of Design in Berlin. 

“And on the left, folks, you can see a beautiful… chair. Yes, that is a chair made out of knitting needles. Quite an angsty work from an artist widely known for his iconic paintings of world leaders in drag. Simply stunning.” Aomine was leading a museum tour, composed half of bored children dragged here by their parents, and half of the said parents, who weren’t looking much better themselves. The perfect tour group, in Aomine’s opinion. He could say whatever he wanted, and they ate it up. 

“And on your right—wow, folks, are you in for a treat—this is what looks like a map of Western Europe made entirely out of felt…”

But there was always that annoying patron who would damage Aomine’s vibe by asking deep questions. Questions about historical context, artistic influences, canvas grade, type of pigment used. Kise was one of these patrons. He was the last one left in the dim gallery, hanging back well after the rest of the group had shuffled into the well-lit reprieve of the gift shop. There was something forlorn about his expression as he stared thoughtfully at some modernist painting. A stark figure in a wide, white expanse of quiet space and loud art. But seriously, he should pick up the pace so Aomine could go on break.

“Anything I can do for you, sir?” Aomine asked stiffly, judging the other man as hard as he could while still wearing his practiced I-am-good-at-customer-service smile. Kise jumped at the sudden greeting but then settled into an easy grin. Oh _Lord,_ he had a clipboard. And was a tiny bit attractive. (What the fuck Aomine.)

“Yes, please. My name’s Kise. I’m an art appraiser doing a deal for a few Alber paintings you have in the archives. Just taking a look at the rest of your collection. Say, mind telling me about the grade of canvas on this piece?”

Aomine resisted the urge to roll his eyes and launched into a well-rehearsed spiel about late 20th-century canvas quality. But through the art history talk, he couldn't help but notice a few things.

Like: Kise talked impossibly fast and had a lot of questions. There was something a bit familiar about this entire scene. Something about his lean frame stuffed into a crisp white shirt and the well-ironed tie hanging around his neck. About his excitability and peppy attitude. Something about the round, wire-rim glasses perched on his cute nose, and— wait, what? Cute nose? Maybe it’s because Aomine’s ex-girlfriend wore the same type of frames. Yeah, that must be it. But just in case…

“Hey, have I met you before?” Aomine interrupted Kise’s rant about homoerotic subtext in Sicilian sculpture. “I don’t know, maybe at a bar? Or a mixer for artsy people in Berlin?”

A flutter of something indescribable passed over Kise’s eyes and then smoothed into amusement. “I don’t know. I think I’d remember if we did, babe. Want to discuss it over drinks tonight?” Then he fucking had the nerve to _wink_. And went straight back to talking about Sicilian sculpture. 

It was kinda hot, and Aomine’s vibe was irrevocably damaged. He had words with Kise about it over drinks that night. Not like it was a _date_ or anything. Just two art guys talking about art. What they got up to afterward was nobody's business.

\--- 

The third time Aomine met Kise was at a sleek rooftop nightclub in West Hollywood. 

Honestly, he hated DJ-ing these types of gigs, full of skinny models too hopped up on molly to appreciate his sets, sweet-talking talent scouts, and assorted B-list influencers who thought getting into the DJ’s pants would boost their clout. Usually, the influencers were too wasted to even make it behind the booth, but Aomine still had war flashbacks to that one girl who managed to flash him her tits before throwing up all over his brand-new equipment. And it was a pity because she _did_ have nice tits. 

But Hollywood club gigs paid the bills, so Aomine couldn’t complain much. At least his friend Kagami at the bar was kind enough to swing him free drinks. Aomine was buzzed enough that he could ignore the hazy smoke, schizophrenic strobe lights, and instead focus on the bass pulsating in his ears, booming loud enough that the very air shook and shimmered. Bobbing his head to the beat, he flicked a few knobs on his controller, fading just right into a nasty drop on a new Japanese trap track he’d been itching to break out. The crowd went wild, and yeah, ok, that was pretty fucking sick. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Aomine caught a flash of blond hair and kohl-lined eyes that seemed to glow. Huh, some of these models weren’t half bad after all. The person who’d caught his attention was the total opposite of Aomine’s usual type (cute, busty brunettes with big racks) but there was something about that tall, decidedly male body gyrating on the dance floor that was enticing and familiar all at once.

Aomine groaned inwardly. Great, it was so long since he last got laid that he was becoming horny-stupid. Aomine was a professional, and he knew hooking up with randos at a club was the definition of mixing business with pleasure. Taking another shot of cheap vodka, Aomine resolved to get shitfaced immediately when his set ended and maybe see if Kagami was up for a quickie in the restroom…

“Whatcha drinking, good-looking?”

Aomine jumped at the sudden whisper and hot breath puffing impossibly close to his ear. He turned and— _oh, it’s him_. The blond from earlier was grinning a mischievous fox’s smile, pleased at the fact he somehow managed to teleport across the dance floor directly into Aomine’s personal space. 

“What the fuck,” Aomine said, intelligently. But the blond ignored him, picking up a bottle and inspecting it with a critical eye. 

“Smirnoff? Ugh, you can do better than this. I’d offer to buy you another drink, babe, but it looks like you’re busy. Hey, hey, want some of mine?”

The whole interaction gave Aomine a weird sense of deja vu. Like he’d lived it before, except he’s sure he would’ve remembered someone this distressingly hot and blond, someone who was now offering him a glass of neon blue liquid that glowed as bright as his eyes. 

“Um, sure.”

The blond smirked, smoothly knocked back his drink, and the next thing Aomine registered was plush lips against his, the taste of sweetness and alcohol flooding his mouth. Because he didn’t want to choke ungracefully and die, Aomine’s only choice was to swallow it down, heart pounding as loud as the stereo system while the other man tugged on Aomine’s short hair and _licked_ —

They broke apart, Aomine panting heavily and his partner looking altogether too pleased. Later, Aomine found himself in a bathroom stall with the same blond’s hands down his pants, and he didn’t even know this guy’s _name_. But one occurred to him just as a warm mouth closed around his cock, and Aomine gasped, unthinkingly, “ _Kise.”_

\--- 

The fourth (or fortieth?) time Aomine met Kise was in a middle school gymnasium, full of loud shouts and the squeak of basketball shoes on freshly varnished wood. Still coasting on the high of a successful practice match, Aomine was dabbing at his face with his jersey and blinking the sting of sweat droplets from his eyes when he nearly collided with someone at the door. 

“Hey, sorry man, didn’t see you there.” 

“Aomine?!” 

An overly-familiar, cheerful voice. Blond hair flopping into golden eyes. An excited grin stretching across a face that still held traces of baby fat, but somehow Aomine knew he would grow into it soon, that he’d become painfully beautiful. Weird. 

“Uh, do I know you?”

“Aww Aominecchi, how can you be so cold? Just so you know, I joined the basketball team because of you! I’m gonna be your biggest rival and challenge you for the ace spot, so you’d better remember my name! It’s—”

“Kise, right? Kise Ryouta?” Aomine rolled his eyes at Kise’s delighted squeal. 

“Aha, so you do know who I am!”

“Chill, dumbass, coach already told us you were joining the first string today.”

Kise followed Aomine all the way to the locker room, chattering excitedly, and he was too talkative and touchy and definitely _not_ Aomine’s type. But still, Aomine felt something warm unfurl in his chest. It felt like he’d been waiting for this his entire life, for Kise to be by his side. It felt like he was coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> i imagine [these](https://youtu.be/nEIPedZCEFE) were the [songs](https://youtu.be/pAPofdkkXok) aomine was playing at the club


End file.
